AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter1
Roni
The weather is balmy today. Not typical for this time of year in Minneapolis, but nobody will complain. Sitting in the stadium stands in short-sleeved shirts instead of winter coats is an opportunity not to be missed.
And today is a huge opportunity for me.
It's one of those rare instances where time seems to stand still, the world around me fading into the background, and all I can see and hear is the action unfolding in front of me.
In front of me is a group of uniformed men in tight pants that hug the shape of their backsides and thighs, their shirts snug over their bulging biceps, chasing down the one who caught the ball and now has it tucked under his arm and is racing, as though his life depends on it, toward the end zone.
I love most sports—they pay the bills—but I have a tender spot for American football.
Twisting, leaping, breaking out of somebody's grasp.
Harsh, pain-filled male grunts as the wind is knocked out of them.
Helmets clashing.
Audience gasps and cheers.
Every sound seems amplified.
I've been attending the home games of the Minnesota Mayhems for as long as I can remember and taking pictures since I was three. My first camera was an original red, blue, and yellow Little TikesTMI remember carrying proudly when my dad took me to the games he worked. He'd fill it with film, and I'd snap away to my heart's content. I was all about capturing the perfect picture, trying to line up the best shot even at that young age. The other sports journalists thought it was cute. I knew it would one day be my career.
Sadly, my dad is long gone, but with every game I attend, I feel him beside me, giving me tips and encouraging me.
Unlike my dad, I prefer to keep a professional distance. I take pictures of players at their best and their worst, looking for that one image that will supercharge my career. I have no desire to connect with them on a personal level. I only want to see them through my camera lens. The life of a professional photojournalist and a professional sportsperson is similar. I'm used to the nomadic lifestyle. Living out of a suitcase has become my norm, and I've embraced it. But I don't have time for relationships. Growing up, I rarely saw my dad while I watched what his career did to my mom. Although I treasured every moment we spent together, quality over quantity, I refuse to have a partner I spend more time on the phone with than in the same room.
That doesn't mean I don't date. But honestly, I fantasize about a hook-up more than an actual one. Because, well, look at my playing field; they're all athletes. Talk about hot. And like I said, we live the same lifestyle.
For instance, I came to today's home game to see Drew Wylder—the one player I can't seem to keep out of my mind lately. Probably because he did so well last season, the anticipation for a repeat this year is high. His picture has been splashed all over the sports pages and media outlets. He's a few years older than most of the other players he’s up against, but not the oldest. Still, he's already surpassed the average career length of many football players.
As a rookie, he had the reputation of a full-of-himself-player. Cute, cocky, and good enough to be a first-draft pick. The ladies liked him.
Now he's even more handsome, his ego has diminished substantially, and he’s an even better player. And the ladies still like him.
He's been lucky.Until today.
Hence the golden opportunity in front of me.
I have never seen a play like this before.
I’ve trapped the athletes, frozen in mid-air, their powerful limbs thrusting at each other as they fight to control the ball. The expressions on their faces tell a story of intense concentration, determination, and strength.
My finger is tapping away at the button on my camera like a junkie trembling in need of their next fix. The shutter opens and closes in a frenzy, capturing every step of the action down on the field.
My heart races, and my body vibrates. Why? Because the image I just captured might catapult me to the top of the list for the Dick McCann Memorial Award or even an Emmy.
I take my eye off the play for a second and watch the crowd captivated by what they're witnessing.
I lower my camera and take a deep breath, savoring this unique experience. It's moments like these that make being a sports photographer worth it, moments that genuinely define greatness in sports and create history within seconds. I can't wait to get home and view the shots I've taken. Maybe this will get my name out there and move me to the A list. I dream of the day my work is sought after.
God, I've wanted this for as long as I can remember. From the time I thought I understood the thrill my father got every time he went to work. I remember the stories he'd tell about meeting sports heroes. But I don't care about the person. I care about the photo. The image. The best one I can take. The one that will be plastered all over the papers and the internet, and know it's mine. Knowing I was there to seize the perfect moment for everyone to see and remember forever.
Today, it's Drew being tackled in a brutal bone-crushing collision, one I could feel through my lens, my body flinching. The play would have been a defining moment in his career.
Until he went down.
